How Much more
by Kinlor
Summary: Tonight, like so many nights before and so many to come, they would lie awake listening to the other’s breathing, each wondering how much longer they could last.As always no slash.


Disclaimer: Connor and Murphy MacManus belong to the mad genius Troy Duffy.

* * *

Winter had come and with it a frozen rain that fell in sheets. Roads were dangerous late at night and they had been forced to take rooms in the rattiest motel in the shoddiest part of town. Every night, when they could afford to stop, was hard motel beds with starched cotton sheets rank with the linger scent of sweat and some convenient store bargain can of floral air freshener. For four and a half months they haunted back alley motels in the dead of night. They stayed long enough to rest, purge the city and then move on to the next location, carrying out God's will crammed in an old blue 1980 Honda Civic that smelled of blood, sulfur and sweat. Murphy never drove because his mind wondered too much, especially of late. When they actually stop Connor and Murphy shared one room and their father another. It was less conspicuous that way.

"I'm getting tired." Murphy voiced on that particularly nasty evening.

He lay lax across his bed, arms at his side and legs spilling over the bedside. The sheets felt grimy against his recently cleaned skin- the first time he'd had a shower in four days. It probably would have been cleaner to sleep directly on the mattress or even the floor. He would have ripped the sheets from the bed or moved himself to the floor if he had the energy, but he didn't. He hadn't had energy to do anything in more than a week.

"Go to sleep." Connor's voice came from somewhere to his left, but he didn't make an effort to lift his head from its place on his stiff motel bed to look for him.

Connor sounded weary as well, though he hid it much better than Murphy, or at least he wasn't cracking nearly as quickly. But he noticed it, the little changes in his brother. He had steadily noticed them from the first day they left Boston. The very night in the hotel when Connor had asked their father how much longer they were going to do this. It was already weighing on his mind then and Murphy was sure it continued to now.

"That isn't what I mean." Murphy finally replied after watching the rain streak down their fogged motel room window.

He was drained: physically, emotionally and mentally. He was wearing thin much sooner than he thought. The lack of sleep and proper meals was beating at his physical health. He had lost weight, so had Connor. It made him worry, not about himself, but about his brother. A steady diet of alcohol and cigarettes to numb themselves only made it worse. It was the adrenaline rush and will to live that helped him make it through ever 'mission'. His emotions were no better. He was constantly angry, angry mostly at their father. The man who had been absent almost all their lives was now back telling them what to do, who to kill and when to run. Connor obeyed him much more readily than Murphy did, but Murphy wasn't sure how much longer that would last. He could see the contempt behind Connor's eyes.

"Well what _do_ you mean?" Connor asked. He sounded annoyed, irritable, but Murphy wasn't upset. He understood. Connor was tired as well in the same ways as himself

Church, mass and confession happened less and less. There was less time to stop and even less time to sleep or eat let alone pray, or confess their most recent sins. This didn't bother Murphy because confession hadn't lifted the weight from his shoulders in months. It simply got heavier, but it was bothering Connor. Connor was faithful to prayer and confession and his sins were becoming too much for him. If Murphy had the ability to erase sins he would just as quickly erase Connors.

"…nothing," Murphy finally said. He heard Connor give an exasperated sigh as he took off his boots and dropped them to the floor, then followed the sound of cracking joints and he knew Connor was on his knees to pray.

Connor still prayed- every night. Murphy did too but the only thing that passed from his lips now was a prayer for Connor's sanity and safety. If he lost his brother now Murphy wouldn't be able to go on much further. He had always relied on Connor, even when he was pushing him away, or yelling at him or telling him off. Connor was the older twin and they both knew it without being told, but they still argued over it, perhaps out of habit. Connor had always protected Murphy even if it was just looking over his shoulder. Even now when it required they both be on their guard and watching each others back, Connor was always taking that extra step that Murphy always feared would end him. And no matter how much Murphy yelled at him for it, Connor would never let up. Connor would always look out for him.

"Go to sleep anyway." Connor finally said as he flicked off the overhead light.

But he didn't. Murphy lay there in the darkness of the room listening to the rain hit against the window and Connor as he tossed and turned in his own attempt to sleep. Murphy had thought that all darkness, that all silence was in essence the same, but it wasn't. The darkness and silence since shortly after they left Boston had become unbearable. In the beginning Murphy had taken comfort in the silence at night, listening to his brother's breathing, knowing Connor was always ever just a few feet away. But now the silence filled him with an almost dread. It left him alone with his thoughts. The same ones every night asking the question _how much longer can you go on doing this?_ How long he drifted with these thoughts was never the same. Sometimes his body just gave out and he forced himself to sleep, concentrating on the only thing that still gave him comfort: the sound of Connor's steady breathing.

"I'm tired too." Murphy barely heard the ghost of a whisper.

Murphy felt the hot sting of tears at the back of his eyes. Slowly his vision blurred as they welled in the corners before spilling down the side of his face- probably the only water to have ever seen the sheets beneath his head. In the dark no one would see his tears, all's well as he didn't have a way to explain them. He could feel Connor's eyes on him and when he turned his head for the first time to seek out his brother, eyes that mirrored his own were staring back at him. The same watery blue eyes, blurred by unshed tears. They knew- the way they always did when their eyes met- that the other felt the same. Tonight, like so many nights before and so many to come, they would lie awake listening to the other's breathing, each wondering how much longer they could last.


End file.
